Slaps and Dongs
by Fallen Ark Angel
Summary: Steph lists the parts of Paul's body that she likes the least while he contemplates what constitutes sexual harassment. - One-shot, set before RAW X.


"But, like, how hard though?"

Paul grinned, big and bright and fake, just for her, as he said, "Same as always, babe. As hard as they come."

"Be serious."

"I am being serious."

"You are not," Steph accused as she hardly glanced up from him, instead still glancing over some papers in her hands. "But I want you to be. Seriously, baby, I don't wanna, like, hurt you."

"Hurt me?" He didn't even hide his snicker. "You think that you're gonna what? Rupture an ass cheek or something?"

She made a face, but still wouldn't look at him. Instead, she sighed some and remarked, "You sure are having difficulties, Mr. Professional. I'm trying to discuss work and you're-"

"I'm discussin' work. Work, right now, involves me talking about you smacking my ass one real good, huh?" He shifted closer to her, if it was possible given their already close proximity, before nuzzling his head against the top of hers. When this succeeded in him finally getting her eyes, he smiled a bit more truly as he replied, "How could a tiny chick like you ever hurt a big brute like me, huh?"

She allowed their foreheads to brush again, but her words were much less intimate.

"What year do you think we just rang in, Paul? It's 2003, not 1903. Women can be just as physically abusive to men as men can to women. It's a serious matter, domestic violence."

They separated some then, but just so they could look at one another. Well, more him than her. He had a pretty hardcore habit of it, honestly, just staring at her. Steph had noticed it more in the past few months and didn't make a big deal of it, but it had been noted.

Paul couldn't help it though. It was hardly a conscious thought. Since he'd officially made that decision, that big decision and actually begun to put things into motion, well… He just spaced a bit sometimes. He always had, honestly, but that was usually about work stuff. Or him stuff. Not Steph stuff. Now he was spacing out on her with thoughts about her and it was just difficult, for him, those past few weeks. It only got worse with each passing one.

Soon, he would be...they would be…

It was just a lot to think about.

"Do I know what year it is?" He hummed then, finally, as if needing even more time to think. "Do you?" Before she could answer, he replied, "It's the year of Hunter Hurst Helmesley. Who are you to question me on anything? Huh? I'd like to see a woman try and domestic violence me."

"I don't think it's a verb, babe."

"Anything's a verb if you try hard enough."

She was too over the conversation to argue. "Anyways-"

"Anyways, lay one on me, huh? Real hard. Real detrimental," he insisted. "I want your hand print on my ass long enough to get someone to tattoo it there."

"Well, for one, I don't want to see my hand print, or any hand print, on your ass every time I look at it, so-"

"How often are you looking at my bare ass?"

"Complains the man that just walks around nude constantly-"

"Have you seen me? Steph, I'm starting to question your sanity."

"You're on my nerves." And he was. She was shifting even further away now and he wasn't too pleased with that. "I'm seriously going to have to slap you. Do you want me to go all out?"

He had a tendency to shut down when she refused to play into his antics. Frowning some, he was the one shifting away then and, hunkering down some, his vision fell to the hotel wall across form them. It had been a pretty shit day overall, honestly, for him. Traveling and gym. That was it. He was finally back at the hotel, with his girlfriend, and he was kind of hoping to forget about everything other than her for awhile.

She wasn't down for this though.

Like usual.

He tried hard not to look too much like he was sulking (it was difficult) as he remarked, "I dunno, Steph. It's my fucking ass that you're slapping, right? Hit me as hard as you want. It's real meaty."

"Your ass is meaty?"

He thought. Then he shrugged. "Toned."

"Not more toned than any other ass ever?"

He glanced at her, but she was still glancing over the stack of papers in her hands. But she was making an effort, at least, after noting his actually pretty obvious sulking. For all his ability to act like an output asshole, it was nearly impossible for him to pretend to be anything else.

"How hard would you want me to smack your ass?" He got her to give him a glance then, but he refused to return it. Only kept looking forwards, at the cheap hotel art on the wall, as he added, "That's how hard I want it."

"I don't want you smacking my ass at all, thanks."

"I know you're lying to me, thanks."

"Shut up."

"You shuddup."

She set her papers down then, finally, on the coffee table before then, just so that she could lean over close to him. He still faced forwards, but she only pushed up, her lips brushing the side of his cheek, as she spoke.

"I'm gonna hit you so hard, now, that I do leave my hand print. To remind everyone who's bitch you are."

She got the reaction she'd wanted (but really, considering he'd been baiting her for this the entire time, who really was the winner?) as he turned to face her too. Giggling, she watched as he scrunched up his face, frowning so deeply at her.

"I'm your bitch, huh?" He snorted heavily. "There's only one bitch in this relationship, babe. Two definitions of it, maybe, but you're both of them."

"What does that even mean?"

"Think a little." Then, suddenly, his dark look was gone and Paul beamed. To her, he said, "Hey, bitch, consider this-"

"Call me that again and-"

"You'll slap me? Great! That's where this was headed." Tilting his head just right, he reached up to point with his cheek. "I have an idea. Slap me some. Right here. Right now. On the cheek. This cheek. Then we can, uh, judge how hard I want ya to hit me."

She only made a face in return. "It's different. Slapping you on your cheek."

"They're both cheeks, Steph."

"Yeah, but your ass cheek is different than your...face cheek? Is that what it's called?" she asked. "There's bones and stuff."

"That's another thing." He was on a roll now. "What if I get a, uh, you know, boner or whatever when you slap my ass. Will that make it sexual embarrassment? Or have I already been sexually harassed by you slapping me? This just opens a lot of questions, in my opinion- Why are you laughing? You McMahons and your disrespect for sexual related crimes. I-"

"Now you're gone too far."

"But you're still laughing."

She couldn't help it. She never could. Not with him. He was just so…

Everything about him entertained her. It always did. They could be in a heated fight and he'd just give her one look and bam, she was giggling and falling all over him. His father always told him that's how you knew you were with the right woman. If you could make her laugh, really make her laugh, at any point, no matter what, you were in.

There were probably a lot of other good signs as well that could be found in their relationship, ones that mattered much more, but he had to say, her willingness to try out different amounts of pressures to apply to slaps to his multiple cheeks had to be a strong case for marrying her immediately.

"Why am I getting the feeling," she accused then as he only sat up rather tall, feeling good about getting them to this point of idiocy, "like you're the one that put the idea of me slapping your ass on television into someone's head?'

"My bare ass, actually. And I do have a lot of exhibitionist qualities, yeah."

"I'm glad you admitted it so easily."

"But no, princess, it's far more up your family's alley, ain't it? Ass kissin' and all that?" He whistled. "Imagine if you actually got down there and did it. Instead of slapping it."

"I'm really not a fan of your ass-"

"Liar."

"It's my least favorite part of you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then you won't mind if I just-"

"Put your arm down."

"-rub your face all in my armpit and-"

"Stop it!"

He knew there was a reason why he stripped down to only his undershirt and jeans when he came in.

She shoved him rather hard and he wasn't fighting her much on this anyways, so they kind of fell back into their own separate sides of the couch, both glancing at one another.

"You're so gross," she finally huffed and he beamed some more.

"I try, babe." Then he wagged his eye brows at her. "Hey, where do the bottoms of my feet range on your list of body parts? 'cause-"

"I don't want your fucking foot in my face, thanks."

"Well, I was asking about my non-fucking foot, thanks."

"Stop it."

Stephanie didn't like to be mocked.

Unfortunately, that was the whole reason he did it.

"And fine, I don't hate your ass," she conceded. "It's not my least favorite part of your body, at least."

"I appreciate that. I work very hard on sculpting it."

"Shut up, Paul."

"Now about the whole, you know, getting sexually aroused in front of my coworkers and peers-"

"Please don't, for starters."

"That's why I think you have to make it really hard, Steph. Make it hurt. Make it to where I, in no way, get any sort of enjoyment out of it. At all." Then he paused and glanced at her. "I mean, unless the idea of emasculating me in front of a huge audience gets you, you know, also aroused. Then, you know, we leave stage and go back and bang or whatever. That's the best anniversary I can think of. It might wind up being my favorite RAW ever!"

"You're so gross. So annoying and-"

"I'm not hearing you say anything about, you know, not sneaking off and banging after involving our entire audience and coworkers in our escapade. Sexcapades." He hummed. "I think I'm getting all hot and bothered just thinking about it."

"You're about to get left on this couch alone."

"I'd definitely be joining you in bed, babe."

"You'd be surprised."

"I'm trying to stop you from being surprised." He whistled again. "Man. When I planned my life out, I never thought that I'd get my super hot girlfriend to slap my ass on television and her biggest hang up about it is whether or not I'll get aroused by it."

"That's not my biggest hang up. You're the one that keeps mentioning it. I just asked how hard you wanted me to hit you."

"Is that your biggest hang up?"

She paused and thought, Stephanie did, before replying, "Actually, I'm kind of interested in, like, how you plan on pulling down your pants."

"Eh?"

"You know, to make sure you don't completely drop them? Or your underwear? Or whatever you're going to have going on down there. You don't want to flash the camera your dick, do you?"

He sat back then, quite dramatically, reaching up to push his long hair out of his eyes as he remarked slowly, "Shit, Stephie. I didn't even think about that. What the fuck, Stephanie?"

"What?"

"Why did you mention that?"

"Why are you just now worrying about that?"

"I'm totally going to accidentally flash people my dong."

"Your what?"

"You know what."

"I want to hear you say it again."

"Dong, Steph. My penis. Imagine. Everyone seeing it."

"I thought you'd be more into it, Mr. Exhibitionist."

"Well, I mean, I'm not against it-"

"The more I learn about you," she remarked as, finally, she rose to her feet, "I'm kind of glad for my fictional self. That she got away from your toxicity."

"That whore." He snorted, losing his fake outrage only to form another. "Hunter's the one that lucky. He gets to move on with his life. Be happy. Which he deserves. He deserves the world."

"What does she deserve?"

"Every ounce of hatred she gets."

Steph made a face at him, but she was quickly disappearing off into the bathroom and it was for the better, anyways. It was so hard for him to leave when they were having those moments. That great, back and forth moments. But it was getting late and he really did need to go out and get them some dinner. He called out to Steph that he'd be back soon, being sure to add on the end, "Be ready to start the slapping when I get back, huh?"

"Be careful what you wish for."

He tried.

They didn't talk about it though, any of it really, when he got back. Steph was on about some stupid shit that he hardly listened to (he could hardly remember who her friends were half the time and cared far less about which was getting cheated on; a consolation for traveling so much) and mostly zoned out some again. Steph called him out on it once, but he only flicked his balled up napkin at her before falling back on the bed they were seated on.

Softly, he questioned instead, "Are you actually kinda sad about it though?"

"My friend getting cheated on? By that asshole? Yeah, I am, because-"

"No, not that." Anything but that. Steph started talking so fast when she started gossiping, especially if she was really into it, and it gave him a headache. "This stupid award thing for the RAW anniversary show."

"Am I sad about slapping your ass?"

"No, I think we already established that we're both turned on by that idea."

"Actually, Paul, only one of us is, so-"

"I was just thinking about how bummed you might be about, you know, this time really being it." He made a face over at her. "We really won't be having nay more scenes together any more."

"Well, we already knew that though."

"Yeah, but, like, this is like raking salt against old wounds."

"Are you depressed because Hunter's gonna die alone?"

He frowned as she tossed the dirty napkin back at him. "Uh, actually, Hunter's getting more tail than ever."

"Will it bother the woman he's sleeping with that he's going to invite his ex wife to kiss his ass on national TV?"

"Bold of you to assume there's only one. Or that any of the infinite number are really that involved in his life at all. Hunter's basically a rock star, babe."

"Basically."

"Groupies everywhere. And now he doesn't have an annoying wife trying to shoo them away."

"He doesn't sound like he's riddled with diseases at all."

"What goes on in the privacy of a man's own pants is his business and his alone."

"You're the reason laws exist."

"Hunter, not me, thanks."

She hummed as she tumbled out of bed to clear it of their trash. "I'll be sure to wash my hand after slapping your ass."

"Is there a difference? Slapping and spanking? Are you spanking me on national television? Will this make things weird in the bedroom between us?" He was settling for the night, she could tell by the way he was stretching out, but could still spare her a few quips. "And I never got a clear answer. Which of us is sexually assaulting the other? Do we have a human resources department? Will we need one after this?"

"Honestly, this is one of the tamer things that's happened in this company. I mean, even between you and me, this has to be one of the least HR worthy."

When she joined him back in bed, he only smiled some and he was just staring again, but Steph was too tired to care. She'd be up before him in the morning and needed to start settling down herself.

"After you slap my ass around some," he kept up after a few moments of silence and Stephanie sighed because she'd thought they'd been done with the whole thing, "I get to get some pay back. Right? Back at the hotel?"

"So this has been what the whole thing was about. The entire time."

"I would, actually, like for you to get a hand print of my hand on your ass," he kept up. "If that's still on the table."

"It never was. For either of us."

"Hey, Stephie?"

"What?"

She'd turned from him, to turn out the bedside lamp, and they weren't going to bed just yet, the television was still on and their food had to digest and all that, but he didn't wanna miss the moment. For her to fall asleep or him to and it to all just fad.

Things always felt like they were fading too quickly.

It was why he knew he had to do it. That he couldn't wait much longer. Not in that moment, it would be another month before the true moment came, when he asked her to marry him, but the tiny moment they were having that then, when she looked sleepy and a bit disheveled, honestly, and she had her glasses on because it was late and her contacts were out and wow, she looked so cute when she was annoyed because he was just spacing again.

"Paul, what?" she laughed a bit and he laughed too and maybe they just hadn't slept enough (they never slept enough), but he just reached over to pull her to him, so they could snuggle up while they watched the end of the basketball game on the shitty hotel TV.

"You're my favorite person," he whispered to her, against her ear, as he nuzzled his head into his girlfriend's, "to work with. That's all."

"You're such a liar."

He was. She wasn't. But he sure liked telling her that."

"But you are mine," she agreed with a grin as she snuggled closer into his hold.

"Now who's the liar."

But she wasn't. He was.

"I just feel like," he yawned as she did all that giggling and kissing and they settled down once more, "when I pedigreed ya, I went step by step, all parts of the match with you. You don't even want to try and hit my ass? Even once? Before hand?"

"I literally just spent the entire last hour try to get you to try it out, to see if I hit you too hard, and you wait until I'm in bed to-"

"I guess I just care a bit more about your safety, Steph, than you do mine."

"Yeah, that's it."

"I love you, you know." He said this suddenly, as if it randomly hit him, as they laid there with one another, her back against his chest, neither caring much for either basketball team on the TV, rather more focused on their fingers, which wrestled slightly as they lay folded over her stomach. He stroked her ring finger and thought of a month while Steph only sighed and thought of their upcoming (and for the time being last) television appearance together.

"Yeah," she sighed as he kissed the back of her head. "I know."

* * *

 **I feel like they probably had a lot of ass slapping related conversations leading up to and immediately following RAW X. For anyone who read this and still doesn't know what I'm refering to, it's Raw's tenth anniversary in 2003, which just happens to take place the month before the proposal. The two events are unrelated, obviously, but I feel like to visit his mind set in this moment without touching on it is a disservice. Peak underrated Steph and Trips moment, in my book, the whole ass slapping thing. The logistics behind it is actually kind of more interesting, really. If not the suspension of belief that the two of them weren't totally a bit too much into it. The McMahons do a lot of weird shit, but this scene happening in front of her family (and of course, every one else) is definitely up there.**


End file.
